


between self-control and self-abuse

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-16
Updated: 2011-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt would probably be feeling some déjà vu by now if he could feel anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between self-control and self-abuse

**Author's Note:**

> -SPOILER ALERT: Deals with the preview of "Blame It On the Alcohol," although most of this is speculation. Technically therapy fic.  
> -Rated for cursing and underage drinking.  
> -Title poiked from the Barenaked Ladies in the form of "Alcohol." Mwah.

Blaine kind of makes Kurt forget about his past experiences until it’s too late.

Example A: Alcohol.

Sometimes it was innocent, unrelated - he’d be digging through his overstuffed closet and happen to move a certain coat a certain way and his eye would catch on the stack of magazines in the corner (the darkest, most shame-inducing corner where he used to hide facebook-quality printouts of Finn) and everything would be coming up April Rhodes.

(He’d heard that, in general, people react to their first alcoholic experience in two ways: Forgetting everything, or _remembering every detail_. 

Kurt was lucky enough to be dealing with the latter.)

And yet, despite the mounting shame and blows to his ego those memories brought with them, he found himself with a tall red cup clutched in one hand within ten minutes of crossing Rachel Berry’s threshold, head absent of all his usual questions or judgements.

After the fact, he could really only blame that on what was clutched in his other hand. Namely, Blaine. 

Namely, Blaine’s arm. 

Namely, Blaine’s un _fairly_ warm and surprisingly muscular bicep wrapped in the skintight sweater Kurt had helped him pick out to wear for the night.

Kurt didn’t think twice about accepting the cup and promptly losing count of how many he’d drained. He was caught in a pleasant, warm haze for most of the night - punctuated only by Blaine’s laugh and Blaine’s smile and Blaine’s warm hand resting on his thigh like it was nothing, like it was normal.

That haze lasted until he crashed back to reality, until Blaine helpfully reminded him of Example B:

Being helplessly, _hopelessly_ smitten with straight boys.

Kurt didn’t see anything inherently wrong with joining the rest of his friends for a game of Spin the Bottle, especially when Blaine was guiding him into sitting on the floor via a warm, heavy hand pushing low on his back as Kurt made his way to the bottom of his third cup. And it hadn’t been bad - if Kurt was being honest with himself, he was having a good time.

They zigzagged around and across the circle, laughs getting louder and kisses getting sloppier as the night went on.

Kurt pulled back from an innocent peck to Mercedes’ cheek, plopping back down on the floor and sighing happily as Blaine’s palm resumed its perch on his thigh. He glanced over to Blaine’s face and immediately felt his face color because Blaine was staring back. And he wasn’t looking away.

Kurt swallowed. Blaine inched closer to him, fingers squeezing gently at his thigh, sliding ever so slightly higher up his leg. Blaine’s cheeks were flushed a pretty red that followed the curve of his ear, and Kurt couldn’t stop staring. He swallowed noisily, seriously debating whether to lean in or away, when Blaine abruptly turned from him.

It took Kurt a minute to realize the bottle had landed facing Blaine - something that somehow hadn’t happened since Santana sloshed the booze around in her cup and announced that all kisses from that moment on had to include tongue, or else - and another to realize he wasn’t the one who’d spun it.

Kurt paled.

He felt a little more weight on his leg, Blaine cheerfully using him as leverage and leaning over his lap, and he almost _almost_ pushed him away, but then it was too late. Because Blaine had barely had time to let out a little surprised giggle before he was being yanked forward by his designer sweater.

Right into Rachel Berry’s lips.

Kurt felt a muscle twitch low on his neck, his face curling up into the hideous, deprecating smile he’d tried to break himself of without much success. Blaine was leaning even further over him, palm falling back onto his knee as he made a muffled sound of appreciation against Rachel’s mouth. Kurt was practically kissing his cheek he was so close, which would be so amazing if it wasn’t so _disgusting, terrible, horrifying._

Kurt held his breath, wincing as he heard the loud, wet smack of their lips pulling apart.

Blaine’s hand wasn’t on his leg anymore, _and thank god for that_ , because Kurt’s functioning brain cells helpfully informed him that he had to _get out of there._

Kurt fell onto his back and out of the circle, ignoring the crunch of an empty plastic cup as he stumbled to get up. He nearly got the stylishly pointed toe of his boot stuck in another empty cup and stepped on another one when he dodged it. 

“Not feeling well,” is what he thought he mumbled as he tripped his way away from the circle, hoping the amount of empty cups still in a loose halo around where he was sitting were enough of an explanation. He didn’t look at Blaine and practically ran up the stairs.

He ended up in a hallway but decided to just open a door at random, which is how he ended up in Rachel’s dads’ bedroom. His eye twitched.

Rachel’s dads, who are perfect and married and happy and _they have a daughter,_ just like Kurt wanted for himself. Wanted for himself, with Bl-

No.

Kurt stomped to the en suite bathroom, slamming the door with a less-than-satisfying click as it only fell neatly into place. He wanted to scream, or cry, or something. Because it was true, he wasn’t feeling well.

But it wasn’t the alcohol. It was the stupid bright smile on Blaine’s stupid face after kissing stupid Rachel because of that stupid _stupid_ game.

Kurt let out a shallow sigh, hands shaking as he pressed them down into the countertop where two clean sinks sat embedded in marble. He looked into the wide mirror at his haggard reflection - pale, other than the spots of humiliated color on his cheekbones that made his face ache uncomfortably.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this. Not anymore. Not to Blaine.

But he couldn’t help it. The thoughts of _it’s just a game, it’s just a game, it’s just a game_ ran through his head but he couldn’t make himself believe it.

He groaned.

“Kurt?”

Of course. Kurt decided not to open the bathroom door, just staring at his own reflection and trying to get his whiplashing emotions in check.

Blaine opened it anyway.

“Kurt, are you alright?” he asked, with his stupid sympathetic eyebrows and his stupid frown and his stupid worried face that Kurt felt the overwhelming urge to snog or punch or both, one right after the other.

Kurt took in a light, shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” he tried, then flinched as Blaine’s hands grabbed onto his forearms and turned him so they were face-to-face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, face swimming in Kurt’s vision.

“Positive,” Kurt bit out, feeling wired and wound too tightly, nerves bouncing around his body and jostling his stomach uncomfortably.

Blaine didn’t let go of him. “Kurt, I - “

“Save it,” Kurt mumbled, voice pitched high with nerves and adrenaline.

“No, Kurt, listen, are you - “

“ - fine, I’m fine, just - “

“ - _stop_ that, Kurt, just listen to me for a se - “

“ - nothing to _say_ to y - "

Kurt squeaked, because Blaine hadn’t interrupted him with another argument. The feel of warm, smooth lips against his own only ratcheted his nerves up into his throat. He felt like he was shaking, and maybe he was - he felt his stomach rumble.

Blaine pulled away, looking immediately, tragically horrified.

“Kurt...” he started, voice wavering. “Kurt, I swear I didn’t...” He sounded like he was about to cry.

Kurt couldn’t bring himself to comfort Blaine. He couldn’t bring himself to think.

“Blaine - “ Kurt choked, shaking off Blaine’s lax grip on his arms. He saw Blaine’s face practically crumple, his eyes hooded. “ _Blaine_ \- “

That was all he managed before he promptly bent over and vomited all over Blaine’s shoes.


End file.
